


We Could Be Kings

by xchirpx (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, America At War, Anal Sex, Angst, Army AU, Depressing, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fighting, First Love, Future AU, Gay Sex, Love, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Smut, Soldier!Harry, Soldier!Louis, Soldiers, Teenagers, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/xchirpx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the year 3035, North America. Washington is silent.</p>
<p>They used to scream. Now there's just silence. Not quite acceptance, nor submission.</p>
<p>Defeat.</p>
<p>In the end, there's nothing anyone can do by just caring. As they say, lovers don't always win.</p>
<p>And besides, Harry doesn't need to burden someone with love. That's not what he's for.</p>
<p>He's for fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Could Be Kings

 

 

Every year, on the eleventh of August, the lives of two thousand seventeen year old men end, as they are taken from their families, and stripped, and dressed in tight, black clothes, and entered into the army. America is at war; has been for the past twenty four years. This is their solution.

It's the year 3035, North America. Washington is silent. Today, at 6:00 in the morning, the heat shakes the horizon.

They used to scream. Now there's just silence. Not quite acceptance, nor submission.

Defeat.

In the end, there's nothing anyone can do by just  _caring_. Lovers don't always win, as is painted across bloodied concrete walls across the state. No-one can quite remember where those words came from. Some say it used to be sung, with piano, and a base guitar. Others say no-one would ever sing that. No-one ever sings honestly. But then again, no-one ever sings.

The mattress he holds around his shoulders drags in the soot behind him. The road is too filthy to leave a trail. The birds shuffle in the trash, squawking and nipping at their feathers, and the sound is so hollow, so dead in the heat of dawn. Harry knows this is his last morning.

He turned seventeen a little over half a year ago, and already his life is over. The Government doesn't even try to hide it. They shut down the schools - what they didn't know from their parents, they didn't need to know - and let the kids do whatever they wanted. Teenage pregnancies were encouraged, drugs were not. No-one listens to the Government anyway.

Harry doesn't think of all the things he will miss. His mother told him that when she knew his father, when they were together, he told her that she was his weakness. That he couldn't afford a weakness if he wanted to survive. She got pregnant soon before he left. It broke him.

He died at the age of seventeen, in black jeans and blood.

Besides, Harry doesn't have an Anne. Doesn't have someone to die for, or live for. Though everyone knows that's not really how it works.

There are three old men in the city. Seven more are due back this year. None are expected to make it. The army spits you back out if you are injured, or deemed too old to fight. But no soldier wants to return to a city of silent women and drugged, violent teenagers. Many throw themselves out of their planes. The Government didn't have the heart to prosecute their starving families, when they wouldn't even recognise the dead man's face.

He sees a girl and a boy a hundred yards down the road. His frame surrounds her against a concrete wall - always concrete, always - and his body jerks against hers. Harry can hear animalistic grunting, and moaning. She cries out loudly, and he clamps a hand over her mouth. There is no sound beside the shuffling, and their combined groans. Then, the boy stops, and falls away from her, to the ground. The girl kneels beside him, and they exchange soundless words.

The boy is seventeen. Harry  _knows_ he is. Like a sixth sense. This is his last morning too.

Harry wonders if he should be spending his last morning fucking a girl he loves into a wall. But then he thinks of how his mother cries every night for his father, even after seventeen years. Harry doesn't need to burden someone with love. That's not what he's for.

He's for fighting.

 

//

 

Harry takes a deep breath as it turns 7:00. He is expected at the City Hall at 9:00. He isn't sure whether he should wash his hair or not. He'll probably never wash it again, so.

She was worried, his mother says, when she couldn't find him. He knows that there's nowhere to escape, doesn't he? She's sorry.

Harry isn't. His life has a purpose, has a meaning. He's going to go and fulfil it now. He knows that in a world of three billion soldiers, all fighting an endless war, that he is insignificant. He is a pawn. But someone will eventually make a difference. Maybe it will be him. He's just starting out. There's plenty of time.

But on the other side of the coin, there couldn't be less time. All his time is spent. It's over.

His mother has laid out his clothes on the bare bed. His dirtied mattress will burn tonight. It's not like his sister will want to sleep under her dead brother's mattress. Death can be infectious.

He peels off his boxers, his t-shirt, ties back his curls with a bandanna, and stands staring into the mirror.

He wonders if they have mirrors where he's going. He somehow doubts it.

The clothes he is required to wear are dark, and cling to his legs and stomach. Tight, ink-black jeans, tight black sleeveless top, and leather boots. This is what the soldiers wear. No camouflage, or convenience. Harry wonders what would happen if he wore white clothes to the City Hall.

No-one has done that in years. He heard someone say that early signs of disobedience, or rebellion, will get you a position on the front line. But he thinks it would be worse. Thinks they would kill them more discreetly than that. You have to work your way towards the front line, have to really work for it. For death. Everyone knows about the front line. Even his sister.

Gemma is fifteen. She is to get pregnant in the next five years, or she will have let down the City. She stands now, silently by the door. Harry knows she's trying, knows there's a boy, and she is trying. Maybe the war will be over by the time his turn comes.

Maybe doesn't exist any-more. And then, Gemma will become an Anne. She'll cry every night, with her children listening through the walls. Hopefully, she'll have daughters. Though, at least with sons, you get to say goodbye. With daughters, they fade away before you notice, and by the time you have, they're dead on the inside. 

Gemma has this quiet way of crying, without tears, without trembling chins and glazed eyes. Harry thinks she's been practising; she has plenty of opportunities. He smiles warmly at her, genuinely. This is the last time he will see her. Unless he comes back, in twenty years.

This is the last time he will see her.

"C'mere, Gem," Harry says softly, and she glides into the room, slipping easily into his arms. They stand there, in silence. Silence is a symbol of strength.

"You won't come back." She says.

"No," Harry replies honestly. "I'm going to die. But I lived."

"You lived." She nods. She pulls back.

"You going to have children, Gemma?" Harry asks. He doesn't want to know, but he wants these minutes to be as least regretful as he can make them. He'll want to have asked these questions when he's dying.

"Yes. Hoping that one day I'll take a test, and it will be positive."

"Who's going to be the father, do you think?" He wonders if it will be Ashton.

Gemma shrugs. "My children won't have a father."

 

//

 

The City Hall is a large building in the centre of the city. Harry gets there early. There are half a hundred, perhaps more, boys there already. Harry stares at his knuckles. He wonders what they'll look like in a months time. Wonders whether he'll still be able to look at them in a months time. Wonders till his vision goes blurry, and there's a hand on his shoulder, and it's a girl with long Blonde hair.

"Want a kiss?" She asks.

"Why would I want to kiss you?" Harry asks, out of curiosity, or confusion, rather than malice.

"Some of the boys here have never kissed a girl. Thought you might want to kiss one before you'll never have another chance."

Harry returns his eyes to his hands. "No thank you." He smiles. She mumbles a quiet okay and moves on. He hears her ask the same question to a boy a few steps away from Harry. The boy kisses her. He whispers something to her. They disappear together. Harry watches them leave. His hand is on her back. Harry knows what happens next.

Another girl comes and crouches beside him. "Want to fuck?" She purrs. Harry looks at her. She has brown eyes and straight blonde hair.

Harry knows that this is literally his last chance.

 

//

 

She pulls down her tights, followed by her underwear, and wraps them into a ball. She puts them between the sink tap and the wall. She unbuttons her shirt, folds it, puts it under the sink. Un-clasps her bra and puts it with her shirt. She takes out her earrings, pulls off her rings. Flexes her arms, and her shoulder blades roll across her spine.

She crawls onto Harry's body, where he is sitting with his bare back against the wall, and his legs slightly bent. His cock is red against his chest, and he tugs at it lightly. He allows himself to moan.

"Want me to suck you?" The girl, Abbey, asks. Harry shakes his head silently. She nods and holds his shoulders while she positions herself over his cock.

"You ever had sex before, Harry?" Abbey says, hovering with the tip of his cock pressing against her clit. She rubs lightly, eyes rolling back a little.

"N-no," Harry's voice is shaking.

"That's okay." She says. She leans forwards, and kisses his cheek. "I won't take your first kiss, baby." She adds. "Needs to be someone you love."

"Okay." Harry's hands are on her hips, lightly holding. She presses down, face contorting in pain and pleasure. He bottoms out, and she drags herself up again by her thighs. She presses down on his shoulders, eyes tightly closed. She drops down again, and Harry moans. He brings his knees up to support her back, and gently rolls them over. He rests her head down onto the tiled floor, tucking her shirt as support under her head. She smiles and thanks him. 

He shoves his cock into her as deep as he can, and then pulls out agonizingly slow, elbows framing her sides. He sucks on her nipple as he rubs the head of his cock, with the guidance of his spare hand, against her clit, and then slips under and inside and begins to pump. The slap of his ball sack against her arse fills the room, with his groans, and her cries of pleasure. His cock twitches at every slap of skin, his balls already tightening like they do when he wanks quietly in his room. He puts both his hands firmly on her hips, and rolls his hips against hers.

He bends down and aligns their bodies, his head resting beside hers. His cock still inside her, he thrusts deeply, but with little leveridge cannot move much. Finally, he feels his cock twitch, and his thighs begin to tremble. His control slips slightly, and his thrusts stutter.

"I'm coming." He says lowly into Abbey's ear, and she just nods, and lets him pulse his seed into her. Their breathing slows down, and she sighs. He rolls off her, and pulls his jeans on, and his top. He fixes his hair, and hands Abbey her underwear.

"Thank you." He says to Abbey, and she nods, smiling with her mouth. She pulls on her underwear, and drags her tights over her thighs. Suddenly, she feels like a stranger.

 

//

 

Harry returns to the crowd outside, and by now, there are more. They are all men - it is a bad idea if loved ones come to the ceremony. No-one comes anymore. Haven't since years ago, when a man refused to leave his girlfriend, and they shot him.

Suddenly, the sleep deprivation catches up on Harry, and he closes his eyes. The last thing he sees is Abbey, leading a boy away from the crowd. He lets the darkness swallow him whole.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is new territory for me.
> 
> Sorry if it's not brilliant.. :p
> 
> Let me know how I'm doing, yeah?


End file.
